By the color of my consciousness emerald is green,
ruby turns red.
I open my eyes to the sky-
light flares up
into the east and the west.
glancing at the rose I utter 'beautiful'-
beautiful it becomes.
A philosophy, not a poet's verse, you'll say.
Truth it is I'll reply
hence poetry.
This is my pride,
pride on behalf of the entire mankind.
On man's ego-canvas
the heavenly architect creates his universal art.
The theologist on every breath is reciting silently --
no, no, no-
neither emerald nor ruby, neither light nor rose,
neither me nor you.
On the other hand, the Infinite, who himself prayed
inside man’s limit,
is called “me.”
In the deep of that ‘me’ blend light and darkness,
appears beauty, kindles spirit;
‘no’ suddenly blossoms into ‘yes,’ in illusion’s spell,
in lines and colors, in happiness and despair.
Don’t call it a theory-
Delighted is my mind
in universal-me’s creation bash
with brush in the hand, and color in the palette.
The expert is saying-
The old moon, his smile cruel and clever
Crawling like a death-messenger towards earth’s ribcage.
Someday it will exert the ultimate pull at its mountain and sea;
On the planet will descend a full-page zero
in eternity’s new book,
will engulp the savings of night and day;
Man’s achievement will lose the vanity of immortality,
on its history will smear
the endless night’s soot.
Man’s farewell-bidding eyes
will extract color from earth
Man’s departing-day’s soul
will mop up the flavor.
Power will vibrate from sky to sky,
light will glow nowhere.
In the speechless concert, musicians' fingers will move,
no tune will play.
That day, poetic-less Lord will sit alone
in the blueless sky
with the logic of personality-less existence
Then in the vast universe
far and far away, among the endless, countless worlds and the next
this sound will not echo anywhere-
‘you are beautiful’,
‘I love’.
Will the Lord sit down again to pray
for eons
reciting in the dissolute-evening
‘please speak, please speak’
uttering, ‘say, you are beautiful’,
uttering, ‘say, I love’?
